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MY DEEPEST DESIRE

The search for a true eternal Desire that runs through my entire being and beckons me to Life.

Life in the Forest

A whole life unfolds in the forest,
Takes just a few hours,
I feel with all my soul,
I'm not alone here, not just by myself.

With myself,
Meeting with God,
The forest gives me strength,
Every single time.

Yet life pulls me back again,
Into the whirlwind of half-dead,
Endless phases...

What can we do if we can't do anything?

I was writing a note about the importance of preserving health for old age. Because if in old age I cannot think or act, it will be very, very bad.
 
  • What will you be able to do in old age, even if you are incapable of most things? (I asked myself).
  • I must be able to love.
  • What else can you do?
  • I can believe and I can desire.
  • How are these things interconnected?
  • I don't know if it comes naturally, but it seems: Desire = Faith * Love.
  • How do you differentiate these words for yourself?
  • Love - it's love for a Person. Faith - it's love for God. Desire - it's the longing for Love and Faith to flourish eternally.
  • Aren't you confusing anything?
  • It seems I'm confusing everything, but let it be so.
  • And what do these reflections give you?
  • If we consider time and all the things we manage to do within this time, it's like an airstrip with flies that we enthusiastically and energetically launch in different directions, like tiny planes. It's important to attach seeds of eternity to these flies. So that more flies carry and sow the seeds of eternity: Love, Faith, and Desire.

Cologne

At first, all public transport stopped for a day. Then writing, bathroom breaks, sniveling, running noses. Glance at my phone, not stressing. We pick up the kids, pack our stuff. Occasionally, I check the time. We leave. Navigate the route, jaw clenches, unease in the chest. Full throttle. Stinky sweat drips down my back, soaking my favorite hoodie. My ears buzz from fatigue, my temples from global injustice. Why did I think I had enough time? It's a blur now. There's a large bridge before the station to cross to our platform. My fatigue shifts to heavy breathing; I sense we made it in time. The aromatic aftermath of the rush stays with me. I conscientiously go to buy tickets from the machine. Five minutes later, I despise the German language, ticket machines, and myself. I figured it out, but we missed the train. Saved 8 euros though. Rush again, the kids are restless, not sensing the urgency. Lyuba gets offended, insists she's Lyuba, not restless. Ahh, another ticket machine. But this one seems more sophisticated. Ahhh, I can't get it right, ahh! Laid the laptop on the ground, chose tickets. Why did they get pricier? There's a discount. 45 euros, pay, pdf. We rush to the platform. The screen displays our train. And there it is. We sprint inside. Asked a passenger if this was our train, he nodded in agreement. Offered to double-check, asked a German if this goes to Cologne. He confirmed. I felt heroic. Settled in, chose seats, exhaled. Wondered why our train departs in a minute when ours is in 10? Silence. Maybe this isn't ours. I sit, doors close. We move. AAAAAHHHHH. It isn't. Ahhhh!!!! What to do? Ahhh? How could this happen? Options, checks, Google. The cost of the mistake + 55 euros to get off at the next stop, on the train we're already on. Anxiety mounts. Maybe they won't notice? Maybe they will? If they do, it'll be a disaster. Bought the ticket for the train we're currently on. Controller checks in 5 minutes. Sweaty relief and satisfaction from the decision. Scanned the QR, like everything was supposed to be. Everyone to the bathroom in turns. The girls are growing, it's harder to hold them over the toilet. The flush is as powerful as a black hole in space. Waited too early to disembark. Lyuba tripped multiple times before the door while the train waited for permission to cover the last kilometer. The train wedged itself against the station. The Gothic cathedral crowded, it seems easier for people from the station to pass through the cathedral's doors. People with luggage obscure the skies. Cars pollute the air. How to see one of Germany's oldest cities through this? Augmented reality is impossible here. Perhaps it's needed only in boring towns? No time for that now. Then we walked, walked, ate, bathroom, wiped the floor, yelled at the kids, cleaned up, left the leftovers, walked, listened to the crowd of environmental protestors, walked, ate, charged the phone, crowds, crowds, crowds, the LEGO store, put boxes in their place, herded the kids to the exit, escaped, walked on, terrible service at a famous café, decisions, Google, dreamed of home with forbidden food and complete relaxation. The museum is close, really cool, but not compatible with sweaty hoodie and muddy socks. Good thing there are many places to sit. Life becomes interesting again. Two things were recommended in Cologne: Visit the Cathedral and try the beer. I don't drink beer, and it's unclear if they make non-alcoholic. Ate, drank, bathroom, dressed, left, throttle, had enough time, boarded, still 30 minutes left. Good thing we got the LEGO giveaway, no background noise. The right train came, we moved to the second floor for a better view, no seats, sat without windows, jiggled around, mustered strength, kept searching for window seats. Found some. Placed kids further away. Relaxation ensued. Outside, it's beautiful, silence around, Arabic talk and Slavic request to bring kids closer. We decline, lazily enjoy. Soon we transfer from one train to another. All's well, timely, and close. Rush, exit to platform via elevator with a queue. The first group went without us. We'll make it. The second group went with us. Barely squeezed in. Positioned so the kids won't get crushed. In an hour, Borussia Dortmund's match. Wish you'd go faster. Everyone exited at the next stop. Exited, yay, only one km left to home. Have to go through the store, we fly out tomorrow. Store, all was good until the scream, "Daddy - need to pee". This store didn't have a bathroom, suggested another. The other said yes, but we'd have to wait. We wait, learn patience. Restrooms after numerous flights of stairs. A good bathroom. Made it. Barely got out. Got out. Then a bottle of non-alcoholic exclusive Cologne beer whizzed by me. Left many questions and thoughts. Craved relaxation, to shed the day's tension. But the beer bottle didn't assist, so I decided to convert my tension energy into this text I'm writing. Finished writing. The kids are asleep! Time to read. Realizing deeply, I love my Dasha very much. Kiss.
 

Flexible Heels on Steel Necks

How suffocating it feels, how heavy when you've tried to suffocate but couldn't. Why is that? Perhaps it's because initially, you come and press your heel onto someone's neck. And there's a desire to stretch and stand taller. And you suffocate. Why? - To be above. To bring them to the light. To dazzle with your wisdom. And you crumble, realizing that your heel breaks against steel necks. They are strong, and at some point, they understand that not everything is right in your head. And they realize that your flexible heels slide on their unyielding steel. It's unbearably hard for me to admit that I suffocate, yet time and again I place my feet on others' necks. I can't stand myself.

Another matter is when the necks aren't made of steel. Then it feels like you've performed a high-tech operation with your heel. Helped someone see life from a different perspective...
Disgusting.

Manipulation Through Sincerity

"Hello everyone, I've finally mustered the courage to write!
Actually, no, life pressed me so much that I had to come out of my shell. Besides, it's not even me writing this text, but some guy, a friend of my husband's. All because I don't write texts, I make awesome... "

I felt a great emotion when I revealed myself in this way (as the invisible author of the advertisement) and those who would post such an ad. To write in the name of a girl, and then in the text itself admit that the writer is a man, and then continue writing in the name of the girl. The lie in the text is disclosed by sincerity (hyper-sincerity), and then continues with falsehood. All this arises in my head, a kind of turmoil with mixed feelings.

That's often how it was with me. It used to be even more frequent.

Hyper-Sincerity is just that, formally sincerity. It pursues something bigger, something else. Because hyper-sincerity isn't self-sufficient. I feel it's an emotional-manipulative moment when, saying sincerely and very sincerely, we pursue some unspoken (or better yet, explicitly stated) objectives. This creates a sort of brew that transports us to the emotional realm.

The reader or listener pays attention to this; they are not defended against such moves because they begin to feel the state possibly felt by the person who wrote that text or says those things. They understand how they would feel if they wrote or said something similar. And it moves them; they witness something quite uncomfortable, something worth noticing.

And here I wanted to write that the author of all this doesn't feel anything. But I paused and felt. Feels, indeed. This combination of feelings inspires and energizes.

In general, hyper-sincerity made me strong when I was afraid of being exposed for lying. Or when there was something that could be revealed in me, something very painful. I strive to vocalize it through hyper-sincerity and stop being afraid.

A person who neither defends nor flees from fear might not need to use hyper-sincerity. And it would be good to live without the strain of hyper-sincerity. I think I'm on the way to that.

The Dictator Inside Me

4 in the morning, my inflamed brain woke up and won't let me fall asleep. Why do I have such a strong desire for recognition of my ideas? Why is there so much unbearable belief in what I do? No, not a big one, but a small one. I see how neural connections have converged and aligned so that, to resolve a situation, I see only one solution. The one I suggest. I am ready to stubbornly stand with arguments in defense of my decision, like a tiny dictator of the lowest level.

Projecting my state onto real dictators, I might understand them better. The insatiable desire to implement their truth and vision in the entire world. The manic desire for their truth and their genius to be accepted by every person on Earth. And anyone who cannot fathom this genius becomes either an enemy or an uneducated fool. Having written this, I feel lighter. I can head out for a nighttime walk.

P.S. I decided to search for an illustration for the post and googled "Dictator" in pictures. But I found a book called "Dictator" by my very favorite Ulf Stark. Now I'll read it.

  • I read it, a cool illustrated book for children. Logvinov did the translation into Belarusian. But I found it in Russian. If anyone's interested, comment or DM, and I'll send the link. Now, definitely off for a walk.
 

Breath of Belarus

Today, I met an unusual Belarusian abroad. One who, not being an immigrant or a wanderer, found himself beyond the border. A bus driver.

I asked for the Wi-Fi password. He gestured with his hands and said: There's no password. Then he clarified that there's no Wi-Fi either. But if something is really critical, they'll help out.

There was warmth in him and a detachment from political issues. He probably has his own thoughts. But he lives, breathes, travels from one end to the other. Helps people. Just a regular, unique, warm, wonderful person. And I missed such an environment. Almost forgot how it feels. And today, I felt the breath of Belarus. I don't want to lose this piece of Belarus. I want to keep it in my heart.

90 for Both

I remember that day well.
Mom said with a soulful voice:
The moment has come!
I was very nervous.

And dad called her a taxi.
They quickly packed a bag.
Everything was very rushed.
And Mom disappeared through the doors.

Then I remember the nervousness.
Friends kept coming to see my dad.
They sat in the hall, had fun,
And played chess with me.

I clearly remember that moment
Amidst the celebration,
It was time for me
To go to bed.

In the small bed
In the bedroom,
There was a radio hanging
A lamp with a shade.

Dad and I went there.
I was falling asleep,
And he stood there,
Saying something warm.

I felt deep down,
His love,
And that moment,
I remembered.

Then I remember in the darkness,
Standing by the windows,
Waving to mom even though
We could barely see her.

Then the house lit up with sunlight,
And Vanya appeared in the house.
And here I am, speaking...
Telling the story of my family.

How hard it is for me to hear about love...

I get lost, hide, rejoice, but I can't find my place. This usually happens when our eyes meet, when I feel something very pleasant and touching. It was like that yesterday. Dasha wrote such a poem: [link to the poem]. And she read it to me, eye to eye. I freeze and barely contain the turbulence inside me. It's hard to find words to describe what's happening inside me. I feel like I'm hearing something I don't deserve. As if it's a mistake. And then a moment passes, and this sweet mirage dissipates. It seems that this can't be true. The pleasant can't be real. These words, eye to eye, make me feel exposed. They pierce and highlight all my imperfections. They scream, feeling dangerously heavy and uncomfortable.

And again, we return to Joy-Existence. How hard it is to return to "Unique joy-existence", to the greatest value of "You are a Human!". Regardless of achievements, appearance, character, or intelligence. "I am a human!" - and that's enough. Nothing can give us more than this word. Starting with this "I am a Human", one can Live, Love, and be loved, rejoice, search, and find. And nothing else is needed. No conditions, statuses, or parameters. This is enough; starting with this, one can Live!

I'll say Yes to Life! I'll say to my Beloved - Thank you, my dear, for being!

Szczytno

What makes me strong? (A poem by Dasha)

Not the money I earn,
Not achievements or performances,
Not travels,
Not growth,
Not work,
Not code,
Not skills,
Not things,
And not diplomas on the wall.

What makes me strong is, That I love you.


Thank you, my dear, for inspiring love with love.

I feel so good with you, my dear...

I feel so good with you, my dear,
I never dreamed of such happiness,
To wake up early in the morning,
To feel elated even without wings.

Without conditions, rules, or opinions,
Without tension, strain, or expectation,
With you, I feel the moments
Of unique joy and existence.

Together, we observe everything around,
We immerse ourselves in the darkness... and again,
The secrets of our conscience are renewed,
And love inspires love.

Everything will end in this world,
Much will change, believe me, together,
Elevated by our love,
We'll wander in other universes.



____
Yesterday, I wandered through the snowy forest, and today, during a walk, I wrote a poem for Dasha.

We Exist!

Here they are, growing out of one pot. Brothers and sisters to each other. Beautiful and slightly different. Leaning away from each other a bit. Someone said - towards the sun. But not just towards the sun. They need space for themselves. They need some safe distance and uniqueness. Just like people. It's their right. And it doesn't diminish love. It's like looking at paintings; you don't get much if you press your nose against them. The same goes for relationships; there needs to be some space. To breathe deeply. To see more around you. And here they are together: Curved and straight, opened and not, closer and farther from the sun. Giving warmth and joy to us. Simply because they exist. I hope that we also bring joy to God just by our existence. This is our primary achievement and our main value. We exist!

The First Guest in my Kingdom

Last evening, Lyuba packed Ksyusha's backpack with full confidence that she would go to school tomorrow. She woke up almost first, insisted on getting dressed, put on her backpack, and went with Ksyusha to sit in the car, arrived at the school, greeted the headmistress. And then she went back to the car. They didn't take her in again. But they promised to admit her soon. Then, I bargained with Lyuba for a walk in the foggy forest in exchange for yogurt. After that, I also bargained to climb into the watchtower.

She was the first one who came and ascended to a place so dear to me. I embrace you, my beloved daughter, thank you for your trust and gentle nature.

Old Roads - New Legs

Many of my photos are from the bike path that became last year's discovery. However, I haven't written anything about it. It starts at the edge of Szczytno and stretches 35 km in one direction, through forests, fields, and lakes, past roads and settlements. It used to be a railway track in the past. And the path unofficially begins from the current railway. About 7 km from the start of the path, there is an abandoned station called Ochodno. During today's trip, I decided to photograph it.

Note: The translation might not capture the exact nuance or poetic nature of the original text but aims to convey the primary meaning and emotion behind the words.

Night Szczytno

Before, you might wake up in the middle of the night, your thoughts racing, knowing it will be hard to fall back asleep. And so, you'd go to the computer to work. You'd work, get tired, then return to bed...

Now it's different, now it's interesting to walk at night, especially when there's a lot of snow, and through the window, it seems as if it's already daytime because everything is so bright.

So, tonight, on the eve of the Nativity of Christ, I'm walking along with cleaning equipment, and from a new perspective, I'm discovering a small town.

I wish you a Merry Christmas, the birth of Jesus Christ!

Note: Translations might not capture the exact nuance of the original text but aim to convey the primary meaning and emotion behind the words.